Life of Lies
by believeindreamers
Summary: This is a trio of stories about Snape's past (somehow, I find Severus the easiest to write about . . .), with some help by 98 Degrees and Creed. And I'm sorry I haven't posted - I'm working on an original fic of my own, and my mom is certain that my fing
1. Default Chapter

  
  
"It had to end this way." Snape spoke with cool confidence. "It had to."  
  
But the words did little to soothe his troubled thoughts. Just looking at Harry brought to mind the life he'd lost for so trivial a thing as his pride; just one look destroyed all the barriers he'd put around his past.  
  
And now, with the terrifying aftermath of Triwizard Tournament, he found himself thinking more and more of his past, and the people in it. Most often, his thoughts wandered to Lily Potter.  
  
It couldn't have been different, he knew that - or thought he knew - but it made the guilt all the more acute. It killed him to think that it had been his fault - just the way it always had. And what had happened here, Harry's close encounter with the Grim Reaper himself, only made him more aware of his own mortality.  
  
Which, of course, led to thoughts of his past. He had always thrown himself into his work, into his responsibility to the Light Side, but now, with the light of day - and his salvation from the memories that haunted him - still hours away, he could not keep him from thinking of the past he thought he'd left behind.  
  
He'd been a fool to think it had ended - Voldemort was no mere mortal, he knew that. But he had managed to convince himself that his former lord was gone. He'd known better, naturally - the feeling had been worst when he woke in the middle of the night, panting, certain that his doom was near, at Voldemort's hands - and a worse fate he could not imagine.  
  
Well, yes, he could imagine a worse fate, he admitted, as he allowed himself to briefly consider where pride and prejudice had taken him. His own.  
  



	2. Honor of a Heart

  
  
I wrote a letter yesterday  
Just trying to explain  
Couldn't find the words to say  
Cause you are so far away   
So far away  
  
* * * *  
Severus let out a sigh of brief regret, crumpling the half-finished letter in his hands. It always ended this way; he didn't know why this time should be any different. But he had thought - hoped - that she could understand what had driven him to this. She had not.   
  
He and Lily Evans had never been more than friends - both would've been startled if anyone had even suggested such a thing. They'd known each other far before the age-old rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin had sought to separate them forever, and that was, perhaps, the only reason they had still been close, even after Snape's Slytherin friends had proposed open hunting season on Gryffindor Muggle-borns.   
  
But the inevitable would not be denied so easily. Lily had fallen for Gryffindor quidditch captain James Potter, and Snape, more out of fury than any real liking for the Dark Side, had become Voldemort's youngest Death Eater.   
  
He'd sworn to seek her demise for turning her back on him that way, but time had eased his fury, and he had finally seen the truth: she had not turned her back on him. No, it had been the other way around - he had, after all, been the one to call off the friendship. And though Lily was willing to forgive and forget, he was not.   
  
It was not sheer heartlessness; he comforted himself with that. Something far more unchangeable than his own stubbornness had come between them, and that something was the Dark Side. He'd learned quickly that Voldemort's vision of the future did not suit him at all, but by then it was far too late to change his mind.   
  
Lily did not understand the danger he posed. Not to her - he would die before he would let her come to harm - and not willingly on his part. But his very attitude toward her placed her in danger; the Death Eaters would not allow one of their own to develop a sympathy for the others side. If they knew he still cared about her, her life would be forfeit, and he would be the cause of it.  
  
* * * *  
I wrote a letter yesterday  
It's so hard for me to face  
That it had to end this way  
But my love will never change  
Will never change  
* * * *  
  
It had to be this way; the Dark Mark on his arm branded him forever as her mortal enemy. But it was so hard for him to face the harsh reality that he had taken this last step, that it was his fault. Always his fault.  
  
He had taken it upon himself to teach her to hate him. Not what he was - she already hated Voldemort with a ferocity that was frightening in its intensity - but him. And he'd succeeded, all too well. He supposed he should be pleased; he'd done what he'd intended. But her new hostility toward him did little to ease his fears, and he lived in perpetual terror that she would be Voldemort's next target.   
  
For Lily was Muggle-born, and Voldemort had sworn a vendetta upon her kind. Snape didn't understand why the Dark Lord hated Muggles the way he did, nor did his master favor inquires into his past. He had simply been Lord Voldemort, and that was all. But Voldemort's silence had aroused Snape's curiosity, and the young Death Eater had discovered a wealth of information about the man.  
  
But nothing really told him what had made this former Head Boy of Hogwarts turn into the wickedly cruel, manipulative man he now was. Of course, nothing in Snape's own background would have suggested his association with the Dark Lord, either.  
  
He had not missed the irony of the situation, but somehow it didn't seem as funny as it should have. Instead, it seemed kind of sad, and Snape had surprisingly little trouble imagining the imposing figure he still bowed to as becoming the model Slytherin: Head Boy and prefect, leading Slytherin house to victory in the Inter-House championship year after year.  
  
* * * *  
When I search my soul to find the truth   
About the love we shared  
I wonder why you're no longer here  
* * * *  
  
What had led him to this . . this insanity? He couldn't seem to name a particular reason, and found it subtly disturbing that he could not. But he wouldn't allow himself to begin this endless cycle of guilt again. It changed nothing; only drove him deeper into the darkness of utter despair.  
  
But it suddenly seemed so completely pointless; this needless hatred of Muggle-borns. What difference did it make, in the long run? The biggest supporter of the Light Side, Albus Dumbledore, had blood as pure as anyone's, yet he was the most important obstacle to Voldemort's plans.  
  
Voldemort himself was only half-blood; was his hatred of the Muggle father for which he'd been named really worth this?   
  
No, Severus admitted, it wasn't. But he known that for quite a while now, and the knowedge did not help him in his quest to stop this monster.   
  
And destroying the Dark Lord would be the only thing that could free him from this dark piece of his past. Yet even if Voldemort was destroyed, he would always be one of them; the mark on his right arm proved that. The Dark Side was his past, his present, his future; there was no escaping it.   
  
Even if he refused to return to Voldemort now, what would it prove? Nothing, he finally decided, besides the fact that he was a fool for not answering his lord's summons. It would earn him only pain, in the end, and that would not accomplish anything.  
  
But there was another option; there was always another option. The aurors. Though Snape would almost prefer Voldemort's mercy - if such a thing existed - rather than that of the aurors.  
  
He was trapped either way; regardless of who finally caught him, he would be questioned, and in the end, forced to tell all he knew. To tell the aurors everything would be surrendering to a future in Azkaban; to be forced to talk by the Dark Lord would be admitting that he no longer had a future.   
  
He knew what Lily would want him to do, and that finally made his decision for him. He really didn't have a preference, but with a certainty borne of years of friendship, he knew that she would. And he owed her that much for all the pain he'd caused her; he could do this last thing, try to undo some of the hurt he'd inflicted upon her.  
  
And he whispered a silent plea for her safety, because he wasn't going to be there to protect her when the moment finally came . . . .  
  
* * * *  
You can just walk away,  
But I don't feel the same  
My heart still beats for you, breathes for you, sings for you  
And those feelings will never fade  
I can't hide my pain  
I can never hide the way I feel for you  
  
  
  



	3. Faces of the Fallen

  
  
  
I spent a day by the river  
It was quiet and the wind stood still  
I spent some time with nature  
To remind me of all that's real  
It's funny how silence speaks sometimes when you're alone  
And remember that you feel  
  
Again I stand against the Faceless Man  
  
* * * *  
Snape sighed as he stared into the shimmering depths of the lake. What had he come out here for? Quiet, perhaps; God only knew how much he had on his mind. Yes.  
  
But in truth, his reasons were much simpler. With Voldemort on the rise again, Dumbledore had been forced to tell the Hogwarts faculty Severus' true role, and his past - Snape could not forget the horror in their eyes, and the fear. And though he could stand the certainty of torture, of imminent death at Voldemort's hands, he could not take the fear in their eyes.  
  
It went back, he supposed, to the day Lily had learned what he truly was. Her reaction had been no less than his worst nightmares realized - no less than what he deserved. And yet . . .  
  
"You're not." Lily's voice trembled. "Tell me you're not with them."  
  
"I can't do that. I won't lie to you."  
  
"What made you do it? You're not like the rest of them! You're smarter than that! How could you bow to a monster like him and pledge your loyalty - your life, even - to him? It's not right, and you know it's not."  
  
"Not right, yes, but fact." He hated the harshness of his own voice, hated the way she cringed away from him. He had been a fool to come here; he should've just turned himself in to the Ministry and not troubled her. But he'd thought . . hoped . . that she could understand. And, lacking that, that she would prefer to learn it from him than the papers.  
  
"Why'd you come?" Her voice was very soft, as though speaking required real effort.   
  
He looked away from her; the accusation in her emerald eyes was more than he could take. He shouldn't have put her through this; what kind of a monster was he? They'd been friends once, but that had been a long time ago . . too long to change anything now.  
  
"I don't know. I thought perhaps you'd prefer to hear it from me, rather than Potter. You need not go to the trial. If I have one, that is."  
  
"You're giving yourself up?"  
  
"Yes. Not that it matters much, you'd tell them anyway." She didn't respond, and he apparated away, not wanting to hurt her more than he already had. And, against his wishes, she'd been at the trial, just as he'd known she would be.  
  
He'd spent only a week or so in Azkaban; he had been the only Death Eater to surrender himself to the Ministry, and that, of course, caused interest. And Dumbledore had come to him with a proposition: he could either stay in Azkaban until he went utterly mad, as so many did, or he could become a spy for their side. It had been a calculated risk on his part, and a surprisingly hard decision - either to go crazy in perfect safety, or run the risk of dying an extremely unpleasant death at the hands of a man he'd once called master?  
  
Dumbledore had not wanted that last condition attached; he offered to try to get him out of it. But it wouldn't have made any difference in the long run. Snape had never really been cut out for a life on the run, and Voldemort wasn't stupid - he would've known that he'd been betrayed.   
  
And so he had agreed. Sometimes he still wondered why; now, so soon after the Triwizard Tournament, he found the thought coming to mind more often than he would've liked. But he couldn't run now, could he?  
  
No, he'd already decided that; he would protect Lily's son at all costs. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to the problem of Harry's safety.  
  
There had always been a chance, he'd known that. Voldemort was no ordinary man; he should've known that the Dark Lord would return. He should've known. He should've protected Potter, but he'd failed at that as well.   
  
This was time he could not let the inevitable occur. Not while he still lived. But then, he thought with a surprising lack of emotion, if he didn't manage to convince Voldemort of his loyalty, he might not be doing that for much longer either.   
  
* * * *  
Now I saw a face on the water  
It looked humble but willing to fight  
I saw the will of a warrior  
His yoke is easy and his burden is light  
He looked me right in the eyes  
Direct and concise to remind me  
To always do what's right  
  
Again I stand against the Faceless Man  
* * * *  
  
His gaze strayed to the photograph he held, and he sighed again. Lily waved at him from the photograph, and in this picture, even James forgot himself enough to give his arch-enemy a grin.   
  
This picture had been taken shortly before the tragedy that had shattered his life; he still wondered if he could have saved them. Logic said no; Voldemort had told almost no one about his secret plans for the Potters destruction. But his heart, that great betrayer, told him otherwise, and as always, logic didn't do much toward easing his troubled thoughts.  
  
Harry looked so much like James; the resemblance still shocked him. But those eyes were Lily's; sometimes he wished they weren't. Every time he looked at Harry, he was reminded of laughing, smiling Lily, and that hurt.  
  
Harry, perhaps, could be the hero his world needed so desperately. Snape wasn't, by any means; he was the first to admit that. But Harry . . .   
  
He could be the hero his parents had never gotten the chance to become. He could lead this world to victory; he could change everything. Harry had already learned the cost of betrayal, already knew the pain of heartbreak. Already knew the sense of guilt Snape had lived with every day since the night the Potters had died.   
  
But Harry was able to see past that; for that Snape was thankful. Harry was a born warrior, a born hero. He could let go of the past in a way Severus never could. Those shockingly green eyes were full of a warrior's fire that somehow managed to urge everyone around him to confidence.  
  
* * * *  
Next time I see this face  
I'll say I choose to live for always  
So won't you come inside  
And never go away  
* * * *  
  
But was that what had forced him to this? That subtle sense of guilt that was present in every waking moment? What if it hadn't been his fault?   
  
"What does it really change?" he said softly. He accidentally released the photograph, and it floated on top of the water for a moment before slowly sinking out of sight beneath the clear blue of the lake.   
  
"It changes everything, Severus," whispered a gentle voice he knew. It wasn't, he knew it wasn't, but for one agonizing second he was certain it sounded exactly like . . . Lily.  
  
And perhaps it did change everything. Everything he knew . . or thought he knew. Maybe that was why Harry still said the name Voldemort without fear; maybe that would guide him through the final battle. Maybe that was why he could still face the dawn, not with fear, but with the same simple joy Lily always had.   
  
Maybe that was what let them face the future . . .   
  
* * * *  
Again I stand against the Faceless Man   
  
* * * *s  
  



	4. Prison of a Past

  
  
A court is in session, a verdict is in No appeal on the docket today Just my own sin The walls are cold and pale The cage made of steel Screams fill the room Alone I drop and kneel   
* * * *  
Severus Snape let out a sigh, a dismal sound of weary resignation. It was not in his nature to fight the inevitable, and he was not like those poor souls who stood at the bars and screamed curses at the guards who stood there. Sometimes he wished he was; it would have made the waiting that much more bearable.   
  
There was no escape, he knew that. Knew it with a certainty that compelled him to silence, leaving the memories to wash over him with a clarity that both amazed and horrified him. He had once been one of the those laughing men who stood on the other side of the steel bars, no use denying that, not now.   
  
The familiarity of the scene amused him in a bitter sort of way; idly he wondered if his former friends would hesitate to consign him to Voldemort's fury. He doubted it - God only knew he would have done it without a second thought, once upon a time. He still might, if it really came to that; he was relieved that Voldemort had not given him the choice to return to life as a Death Eater. Because, God help him, he wasn't certain he could say no.  
  
The sins of the past had finally caught up with him. He'd known they would; he could not escape forever. He had forced all thought of his old crimes to the back of his mind, and there they had remained for almost sixteen years. But now, with retribution so shockingly close at hand, he suddenly felt that he was in real danger of hell.  
  
And it terrified him. He deserved it, he supposed, but for some reason that didn't do much toward easing his troubled thoughts. Not that he'd earned that courtesy either, but as the Death Eaters gathered closer to the cage, in expectation of Voldemort's arrival, he felt all too close to the edge of panic.   
  
* * * *  
Demons cluttering around My face showing no emotion Shackled by my sentence Expecting no return Here there is no penance My skin begins to burn  
  
* * * *  
  
But no. He refused to show fear, not to these demons. After all he'd been through, he could at least go out with a brave face.  
  
He let his face slide back into that familiar expression of total unconcern that had served him so well these long years. His face revealed nothing of his thoughts; he could watch the most unspeakable crimes without ever showing a hint of emotion.   
  
Which, he knew, was the only reason he had lived this long. He could lie to Voldemort without ever changing expression or showing fear, and he smiled ruefully at the thought that he had once taken pride in that. But that same skill had driven him past the boundaries of rationality and into the realms of insanity, forced him to spend so many long years in Voldemort's inhuman presence.  
  
Because he had been the only one who had both the courage and the motivation to risk Voldemort's fury for the Light Side, and he had known it. He had known that if he didn't do this, didn't take this chance, no one else ever would. Indeed, if he had waited long enough, let himself really think about what he was being asked to do, he wasn't sure he would have done it either.   
  
But he had. That was all that mattered. Voldemort cared nothing for excuses, though the thought of begging for mercy had never really entered his mind. And that was the risk he had taken for so long, knowing all the while that it could come to this. But he had done it anyway, and taken pride in what he'd done.   
  
But it all seemed so inconsequential now, as did so many things he had once held dear. At times like these, nothing he'd ever done really seemed important, and that what really shocked him. It shouldn't have mattered, not now, but it did. It did.  
  
* * * *  
So I held my head up high Hiding hate that burns inside Which only fuels their selfish pride We're all held captive out from the sun A sun that shines on only some We the meek are all in one  
* * * *  
  
He hated them. He hated them for changing his life this way, hated them for making him betray all he'd ever cared about.   
  
But they were used to hatred; he always had been. Hating them did no good, he understood that. Yet it was so unbearably hard to just stand there and look them in the eyes and not hate them what for they'd already done, what they would do in the future if they got the chance.   
  
They were all out for themselves, and anyone who got in the way would simply become another casualty of prideful ambition. He'd lost more than his life to these monsters; he could not forgive them, not for what they themselves had done, but because of what their encouragment had led him to.  
  
It was his fault - they hadn't forced him to it. But he could not resist the urge to blame them for his own shortcomings, for offering him the power he'd always wanted, for putting it within his reach.   
  
He blamed them because he hadn't had the strength to tell them no.  
  
* * * *  
A lion roars in the darkness Only he holds the key A light to free me from my burden And grant me life eternally  
* * * *  
  
It was too late for him - sometimes it felt like it had always been too late, that this was simply in his nature. But it was not too late for others; not too late to stop someone else from making the same mistakes he had.   
  
The lion of Gryffindor. Yes. Harry Potter, the only person to survive the Avada Kedavra Curse, held the key to stopping all this.   
  
Potter could win, he could finish Voldemort once and for all. Harry had already learned heartbreak for the family he had never known, already knew the now-familiar hatred for the Dark Lord that had finally driven Snape to Light Side. But it did not overpower him, had not yet inscribed itself into his soul so deeply that time could never erase it.  
  
Severus wondered how differently things could have been if the Potters had survived Voldemort's attack, and as always the thought brought nothing but bitter hatred for Voldemort and his minions. Maybe it always would.  
  
And as Voldemort raised his wand, Snape said a silent prayer for the future and for all those who would have to face it. Because he wasn't going to be there to see it . . .   
  
* * * *  
I cry out to God Seeking only his decision Gabriel stands and confirms  
I've created my own prison   
  
  



End file.
